


Heroes are Made (Not Born)

by chieftain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author is not a Genius, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Child Abuse, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve is a robot, Technobabble, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chieftain/pseuds/chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony was fourteen when he developed the code for S.T.E.V.E., but the project was deserted and lost in the days following.</p><p>Twenty years later, Tony locates the old schematics while trying to rid himself of his palladium poisoning. Nothing is the same after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the best with scientific/technological terms and descriptions so I apologize for the vague, hand wavy stuff. Any mistakes are mine, and of course, comments and kudos are great :)

Tony was fourteen and nursing a bruised cheek. It wasn't the only thing that had suffered a blow from his father, who was in his office, attending to things that "children" like Tony would not understand.

Even at the top of his high school class, where a senior was supposed to stand, he did not meet his father's expectations. Everything he did was never good enough, never earned even a pat on the head; he'd have taken a simple thumb's up by this point if it meant someone in his life gave him approval.

His classmates despised him, viewing him as a child who didn't deserve his place; his teachers saw him as a slacker and a troublemaker, never failing to send home disparaging remarks about his behavior; and his parents did not perceive him as someone worth an ounce of their time, preferring to perfect their new invention or travel with friends.

They weren't there for him, so he'd made ones who were, flawed but perfect in every way because they were  _his._ But now, a bag of ice pressed to his face and injured pride, they could not soothe what had persisted for the duration of Tony's life.

Naturally he decided he would have a new project, calling this one S.T.E.V.E. He wasn't sure what the acronym represented; probably something along the lines of "Some Tech Error Valour Embodies" (honestly he just wanted to call it Steve).

He settled into his workshop (one that Howard had surprisingly built him for his birthday) and spent hours poring over his research; eventually he wasn't sure how much time had gone by, for he'd stopped paying attention after twelve. He was writing lines of code, detailing a body, revising more lines of code, developing possible speech synthesizers (a Brooklyn accent, just not too noticeable) and planning a database, until he was forced to make a temporary leave to attend his long neglected bodily functions.

When he returned, he saw Howard standing in the middle of all his work, arms folded over his chest. Tony was unable to see his face but he knew his father well enough to know there was undoubtedly a frown beneath that mustache. He'd been at the front of it often enough that by now he could imagine how it felt from the back, out of sight yet so present.

"Dad?" He'd attempted once to call him 'Howard', but it'd resulted in another mark on his skin, so he kept to using the meaningless title.

"What are you doing? Your teachers called me and said you are missing eight assignments, and two of them are large projects. They also said you didn't come to school today."

"Really?" Tony tried to play it off as though he hadn't known, but he didn't gain the smooth ability to lie like breathing until several years later. "I slept in a little late."

"Don't act dumb with me, boy," and his voice was eerily composed, the calm before the storm. Tony swallowed.

"I prioritized. I was working on this project. You should know what that's like, you do it all the time! You always pick your inventions and your business trips over me!" He was angry now, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I'm just a regular chip off the ol' block, aren't I? Maybe if you didn't want such a fuck-up you shouldn't have had kids, because clearly they're going to be _just like you._ " Tony felt triumphant, though it was background noise compared to the boiling fury that had been building for months, years, enduring abuse and disappointments to grow even stronger. "And you know what? I feel bad for you because you can't understand what I'm doing here. I pity you because you can't see how much your son wants you to at least  _look at him_ and say,'good job.' That's all I want."

"So you've done all this to get my attention? Well you have it Anthony, and I can't say I'm very impressed." Evidently Tony's triumph was going to meet an even earlier demise than he'd anticipated. "I will not tolerate the disrespect you've shown me this evening." Howard began using his foot to shove all the papers and blueprints in a pile, as though they were not worthy of his hands.

Tony, of course, would not stand for it. "Dad, what the hell are you doing?" He moved forward, bending to save the product of his many hours toiling, but Howard shoved him back, and, taken by surprise, he lost his footing, unable to stop his descent. As a result, the corner of a nearby table struck the side of his head, and he laid in place, blinking black spots out of his vision.

Was he bleeding? He lifted a hand, watching it blur, and touched the side of his head; when he drew it away, the fingertips were smeared red. Tony struggled to his knees, feeling like a backseat passenger of someone else in control of his body, making him stumble after Howard, teetering dangerously with each step. "No. You can't- can't do that. Don't. My...my work," he mumbled, or he was sure he mumbled; Howard looked startled, so maybe he hadn't. Tony couldn't tell. "Stop, I need it."

Howard's hands reaching for him were the last thing Tony saw when the floor rose up to meet him for a second time.

* * *

Twenty years later:

Tony rubs at his chest, managing to snare the grimace before it surfaces; whatever they injected him with was damn good at what it did, but he can still feel the poison lurking. He needs to fix this thing, and fast, unless he wants death to cart him off to a morgue where people can cut out his reactor for the technology there.

It's not paranoia if it's something he would do in a reversed position.

He rummages through another box, setting aside the films he'll watch once he finishes his search. Tony's about to move on to the next box when he removes a bundle of papers rolled up, including what appears to be a few blueprints.

Curiosity captured, he smooths them out, taking note of the handwriting that had plagued him throughout his teenage years. The lines of code are fairly well done for that time, all carefully revised, and after perusing through the others, the realization slaps him in the face. 

It's Steve's schematics, his planned existence written by a rebellious fourteen year old wanting only two things in his life: his father's approval and a friend. The latter he got after taking over the company; the former he hasn't seen with his own eyes.

He sets them aside, because nostalgia has a time and a place and this is not one of them.

* * *

Tony is alive, surprisingly, but what he has trouble accepting is that it's because of his father that he was able to cure himself of the poisoning. He doesn't like feeling as though he's supposed to  _owe_ him something; Tony Stark does not like obligations or debts. Especially to dead men who, when alive, were the contributors to an incredibly wrecked self esteem and enough daddy issues to fill a warehouse.

He exhales slowly, sitting within his lab, Steve's schematics resting on the nearby table. Following through with Steve is growing more appealing as the moments tick by, especially when he recalls Pepper declaring she needed space. Space, as though over a thousand miles defines breathing room.

Tony pulls the papers over with the hand that isn't holding a glass of scotch, allowing his eyes to roam the aspirations of a Tony Stark who had parents but no family and plenty of dreams to go around. He had his head stuck in the clouds while his feet could not have been more firmly rooted in the ground; he still does, as much as he hates to admit it. 

He taps his fingers against the sheets, a restless staccato rhythm, and then he's tossing the rest of his drink back, enjoying the burn, and the glass ends up somewhere behind him. He rises from the stool, plucking up the prints with an air of finality.

"I can work with this. I'll make it work, or my name isn't Anthony Edward Stark." And as usual, there's no one around but him to appreciate his sense of humor. 

Not for long, anyways; it's something he plans to rectify very soon.

* * *

Fifteen cups of coffee, two hours of sleep, three five minute naps, frequent bathroom trips, and fifty hours later and Tony's slumped in front of- well, a robot. He hasn't gotten to the synthetic skin yet, so Steve is a mass of sleek metal and wires with lifeless eyes not yet reflecting the light and energy of the processors behind them. 

Tony is damn proud of himself, but the only way to know for sure is to power him up, which involves the mere inserting of an arc reactor specifically crafted for Steve. He bites his bottom lip, worrying the flesh with his teeth as he presses the pulsing power source into the cavity within Steve's chest.

He takes a step back, and watches as his invention comes to life; the eyes begin glowing the pale blue of the tech cradled in his chest, wires illuminating a variety of colors, and with the softest whirring of motors, Steve raises his head from where it was previously bent, back straightening accordingly.

"Hello Tony," Steve says, and Tony has the temptation to weep because his voice is _perfect,_ carrying the light undertones of Brooklyn, and its mere lack of a tinny quality is enough to inspire glee. "I am Steve, but I am sure you already know this."

"Hey Steve," he answers, his forehead dropping to hit an empty space on the surface in front of him.

"Is there something wrong? You appear distressed." There's a metallic thump, likely Steve's feet against the floor, and there's an abrupt pressure on his shoulder. 

"I'm just tired."

"You require rest."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Tony can't help but mutter, fighting the waves of sleep that at the edges of his mind.

"Who is Captain Obvious?"

"It is a sarcastic comment meant for humor or to reveal irritation." Jarvis' interruption is a thing he simultaneously loves and hates; on one hand he didn't have to answer a question his brain cannot properly parse, but on the other it means the two of them will strike up a conversation and he won't be able to sleep.

"Ah. I understand." Steve's already been integrated alongside Jarvis, though he doesn't have the same control over the building, merely a larger awareness of things. As Tony's first android, he doesn't think he's done such a bad job; there's room for improvement and adjustments, but the overall idea itself is one that works, and works well, from the way Steve is now peering curiously at DUM-E.

"Do you?" At first Tony doesn't think Steve has heard him, and he begins to add to the list of functions he'll need to focus on more, but then Steve speaks and, for once, his brain is quiet.

"Do I understand? Partially. I am able to comprehend what sarcasm is but I do not know what amusement and irritation feel like. I do not know what I feel." Good God, not even thirty minutes old and he's already having a crisis.

"I can work on that, if it's something you want." Steve's head tilts, and it shouldn't be as adorable as it is but 'cute' is the first word Tony can think of to describe the action.

"Want?" Tony goes to open his mouth, to correct his wording, when the robotic man nods. "Yeah. Yeah I want that."

'Yeah.' He says  _yeah_ as casually as a human does, and Tony is shouting a "yes!" before he can control his mouth.

Steve frowns - _frowns,_ something people don't think twice about but an android? It's amazing; his self-thinking ability is much more progressive than Tony expected- and his expression is as close to disapproval as it can be. "You are delirious from a lack of sleep and proper nutrition. Jarvis has informed me you have remained here for over fifty hours with approximately two hours and fifteen minutes of rest."

Normally, Tony would protest, would say that he's used to it and it's nothing compared to what he's done in the past, but it's Steve telling him. "Okay. I'll- I guess I'll go take care of my human needs."

"I will accompany you." Steve approaches him from where he had been fiddling with a wrench, one wired, artifical metal boned hand wrapping slim fingers around Tony's elbow. He's never been more proud of something he's built; he's like the modern Michelangelo. 

And his sleep deprivation is increasing in its manhandling of his thought processes.

Steve tugs lightly, his motor control quite frankly astounding, but considering Tony made him, why wouldn't it be? He may not know the proper elements of a human relationship but he can navigate the world of machine and computer easily. 

"Come, Tony." He sounds so earnest, like all he wants is to please him and take care of Tony- which he does, because Tony built him for that. It has him...guilty, because Steve has his wants and his wishes, but at the end of the day he'll still be what Tony made him. What Tony needs him to be.

"I'm coming," he grumbles, the elation from completing his goal vanishing along with the hopes he'd so foolishly lifted.  

Tony Stark doesn't deserve nice things; why he hasn't fully caught on to that until now is pitiful.

"Good night Tony." And that's Steve, standing by his bed, pulling covers over Tony, his gaze unwavering. The light his reactor emanates is comforting and ushers the drowsiness into Tony's veins. 

"Night Steve." All he can think about as the darkness takes him is that Steve is a nice thing he can't have; ironic, considering he made him.    


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy, sorry guys  
> Anyways, thanks for the interest you guys have in this! It was great to read you all enjoyed the first chapter :)

Tony should have figured he wouldn't be able to keep Steve a secret.

"Your android is polite," Natasha comments from where she's standing in front of a painting, one that Tony can't recall having, and likely for good reason considering it has a striking resemblance to something Tony has vomited after a night of heavy drinking. 

"What android?" The bar is nearby, which makes it easier to pour himself a glass, holding the bottle out towards the redhaired woman, who shakes her head.

"No. Our tastes aren't the same."

"Too good for you? I have some vodka if you'd prefer." He knows it's futile to try and veer her off course, and she knows he does from the way her mouth curls into a secret smile.

"He told me his name was Steve. You haven't gotten around to adding his skin yet, though."

"Noticed the wires, did you?" Sighing internally, he places an elbow on the counter, leaning against it. "If Fury wants the prints he can go fuck himself. He needs to be less tense anyway."

"Believe it or not, that isn't what I'm here for." 

"Really? I'm going with option three, where you leave and I can go back to being-"

"Alone? I know Pepper is at your headquarters stationed in Miami."

"Did you get bored enough that you decided to keep tabs on me?" He swallows half of the amber contents within the glass before setting it aside and straightening. "Speaking of Steve, where's he gone off to?"

"I'm here." The tall man -no, not man, android- enters the room from a connecting hallway, one hand raised into an awkward wave. It isn't that his mechanics cause it to be jerky, because the movement is as smooth as ever, but it's possible that he's uncomfortable. Interesting.

"Hey Steve. So you met Natasha?"

"Yeah. She said she's a friend of yours." Evidently Steve has learned enough from Jarvis and the Internet that Natasha is no friend of Tony's. Must be why he's acting strangely.

"Okay. Now, what were you here for?" Hopefully with Steve here now, she'll go away and leave him in peace, but she doesn't budge from her spot. 

"Fury wants-"

"Me to build him one? I told you that wasn't going to happen. Is that it? You can go now. In fact I'd prefer it."

"Stark. I told you Fury doesn't want that." Rolling her eyes, Natasha crosses her arms. "He suggests that you shut Steve down."

"What?" Tony and Steve question in unity, but Tony's more indignant and Steve sounds mildly offended.

"What if the public finds out about Steve? It's going to be much worse than when you made Iron Man because more and more people are going to want your technology. They're going to see that you are able to create machines who can think and  _feel._ "

"We already have a few of those."

"Not like yours and you know it. People are going to be stuck between fearing you and trying to steal your tech. You already know the disasters that happened when they had your weapons; think of what they'll do when they manage to get their hands on that." She jerks her head towards Steve, who's frozen in place save for the slightest turns of his cranium to track the words shot back and forth, as though they're a tennis ball repeatedly struck over the net.

"When? It's an 'if', Romanov, and a very minimal one at that. Furthermore, Steve is not a 'that.' He is a  _he_. You called him that earlier, I don't see why you can't now." 

"You know what I meant, you're just dodging the question because it's one you don't want answered."

"A question I don't want answered? Are you hearing yourself right now? I'm Tony Stark, I  _live_ for questions." He's approximately three seconds from doing something dramatic, and he has a strong feeling Fury won't appreciate having one of his best agents dropped on his porch with a big red bow on her little unconscious self.

"Other than ones you don't. Look, Stark," and here she sighs, a soft exhale that is similar to something Pepper would do,"just consider it. This isn't as simple as you and your android, and you know that." 

"Jarvis." Tony doesn't deign to supply the woman with an answer, instead turning his back to her so he can pour himself another drink, even with the prickle of unease that it brings him. 

"Right this way, Agent Romanov. I will direct you to the first floor."

"I can work an elevator," she replies; it's the last thing Tony hears from that area before the ding signalling the elevator's doors sliding open sounds.

His brain heavy, body even more so, he slides onto the barstool and throws back another finger of scotch, accustomed enough to it that the sting isn't too harsh.  He has an urge to laugh, one of the maniacal, crazy ones that people used to get put away for, because again, in spite of the warnings he gave himself when he first started, he wound up hoping for a bit of privacy that he wouldn't get. Typical.

"Tony?" Steve is concerned, though he's usually carrying that tone no matter what is happening, unless he finds all of Tony's habits worrying. He wouldn't be the first person. _Because he_   _isn't one,_ some part of his mind helpfully offers, and there's even a brief entertainment of a list he can use to keep track of all the people who find what he does worrisome. 

"It'd be a short list," Tony murmurs, sipping some more of the scotch; he hates self-pity parties, so maybe if he manages to drink enough he can forget about everything. However, if he does end up becoming completely wasted, there's a possibility his day is going to share a startling amount of similarities with his toilet and the painting Romanov was intrigued by.

He's lifting his hand to refill the glass when a metallic hand maneuvers the bottle away, and this Tony turns around for, an eyebrow cocked. "Steve? What are you doing?"

There isn't skin for the ionic polymer-metal composite (modified, of course, to fit not only Steve's face but to be more efficient, and so the arc reactor can power them well in coordination with Steve's organic technology) to move, but they are able to pull the silver silicone foundations of Steve's mouth (they will look more realistic once he gets around to constructing a dermal layer, though that is the only improvement they need given he has even included force/pressure sensitive sensors in them) down into a frown and furrow the metal ridges of his brow.

"Alcohol is unhealthy," he says, placing the bottle a good few feet from where Tony's sitting. "And you drink more than what is necessary."

"Believe me, it's necessary." He snorts, and Steve doesn't seem to appreciate his sense of humor, if the way he folds his arms over his glowing chest is anything to go by.

"Miss Potts called during your conversation with Agent Romanov," Jarvis interrupts, and Tony idly recalls how he used to address her as merely Pepper, but that was before she stated that what they were doing wasn't working. He can always count on Jarvis; hopefully he can extend that to Steve, when he stops acting like a flustered mother hen the majority of the time.

(In all honesty Tony finds it endearing, which isn't creepy for him but should anyone else know he finds his android adorable, they won't be as open-minded).

"All right, fire away." Thankfully, Steve has researched enough on idioms that he doesn't have the reaction he had a few days ago, when Tony was bantering with Jarvis and said he was going to end up shooting himself in the foot. 

"She stated, 'Tony, I know about your project. Call me whenever you get this.' And then she hung up, sir."

"God, I need a drink." Groaning, Tony slips out of the seat and reaches for the scotch, except Steve sweeps it away before his fingers can close around it. "Steve, I get it, you disapprove. Now give me the bottle."

"No." The alloy forming his jaw bone tightens, and Tony definitely isn't imagining the way he juts out the angular chin.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter." But Tony nearly does, because  _that_ is not something he was prepared for. Jarvis sasses, of course he does, but he didn't do it within the first five days of his creation.

"And neither did I." 

"Then we understand each other." Tony's eyes narrow, irritation levels spiking, and he releases a heavy breath.

"Activate code 365773-S." In immediate response to the command, Steve's controls lock. Or, as the moments pass without any sign his words have registered, they  _should._

This is not the first backlash he's going to get for making a completely self-thinking android, and it isn't going to be the last.

"Steve. Care to explain how the hell my command isn't archived?" The android's head ducks, a mannerism typical of embarrassment or shame; good to know something is working. Partially.

"I...removed them."

"You  _what_?"

"I removed them! Some of them. I had Jarvis help me." Tony grinds his teeth together, trying to tie back the red that flashes in his vision, as well as the angered pace of his pulse.

"You removed  _my_ commands and you don't tell me until now? What the hell were you thinking, Steve?"

"I was thinking! Isn't that what you built me for, Tony? To think? I thought that I wasn't comfortable being programmed to heel or lose control, okay?"

Tony really doesn't want to deal with this chaotic mess he's made, the clash of machine with feelings written into code, and with a dark glare sent Steve's way, he exits the room.

Fortunately he has managed to exit with a bottle of vodka Steve hadn't seen him swipe.

* * *

Tony isn't letting him in.

S.T.E.V.E. (Steve?) could bypass Jarvis if he wanted to, which he does, but he knows that would only make the outcome of this an even worse one than it already guarantees. Tony must think he didn't notice the alcohol he left with; if that is true then he assumes wrongly, as there is not a thing Tony Stark could do without his notice.

Part of that is his programming. Tony made him to cater for the man, to provide companionship; it isn't written in words but it is written in numbers, a numerical series that spells out between the lines the loneliness his creator feels.

The other part is by his own doing. He can think for himself, perhaps not in the intricate, beautiful way a human can (and he would know, because he's had access to some brain scans Tony went through after Afghanistan, and they are...awesome) but in a way that still enables him to experience emotions, wants, desires, etcetera. What he wants, what _he_ wishes (not Tony) is for his creator to have a happy life. 

Tony wants that but he doesn't want it like Steve does.  

The problem is that despite being able to formulate his own yearnings and opinions, he's still not human. He doesn't feel because he has a mind that sends off unique chemicals and hormones; he feels because it's in his code. It's embedded in him.

Humans are born with it but he was  _made_ with it, and he doesn't know how to convince Tony that Steve could care for him without possessing the commands and files and databases for it.

It's why he decides he's going to make a few adjustments while Tony locks himself away; Tony will be angry, yes, but in the end Steve believes it will be worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update and its short length! I'm moving and I won't have much time to write :(

Tony, bleary eyed and head aching, blinks slowly at the image before him. He rubs at his face, pinches his arm, and tries to determine whether or not what he's seeing is a hallucination brought by his alcohol soaked sleep.

"Steve...are you...is that...?" The android smiles, and he's flashing teeth - _teeth_ \- at Tony, looking every bit the charming man Tony had envisioned as an aspiring fourteen year old. "How the hell-"

"You have a 3D printer," Steve interrupts, shrugging, "and I made a few more modifications to the ones you already did. Does the rest of the world know you made it able to generate synthetic skin with that? It would be very helpful in the medical field."

"Uh." Tony needs to reboot his brain, or at least get his hands on some-

"Coffee," the android says, pushing a mug at the frozen inventor. "Jarvis told me you need a cup to function." Tony can't chug the liquid back fast enough, and once he does, things feel a bit clearer than they had before.

It doesn't help his headache, though.

"So you did all of this when I was- when I was sleeping?" If Steve notices the stumble -which he probably does- he doesn't mention it, merely aiming another dazzling smile Tony's way. 

"Pretty much. It took me approximately three hours and six minutes to apply the facial graft, though." It is still way too early to find out that his android is not only continuing to rewrite his code (unauthorized modifications, hello) but he's becoming increasingly more human. That's not what Tony wanted, wants.

People hate him, robots don't; what about the ones in the middle? He doesn't know and he isn't sure he wants to.

"Did you call Pepper?" The question has Tony flapping a hand Steve's direction and trudging over to the kitchen, where he pours himself more coffee.

"Yep. Had a nice grown up chat, too." 

"No you didn't. You didn't call her, Tony, I monitored the communications."

"And what makes you think you're sophisticated enough to track something I've made?" He quirks an eyebrow, watching as Steve appears to flounder for a moment, surprising considering he's already proven he has a sharp mind.

"You made me," the blonde says, finding his footing, and briefly Tony wonders what he made the scalp out of. He'd have to have used the skin there, obviously, but the hair? Possibly synthetic. He just needs to take a look at the changes Steve has made to the machine.

"And?"

"Stop stalling. I know you didn't call her and I know you not only drank a seven ounce bottle of vodka, but you also had three ounces of whiskey and three ounces of scotch. How you are not incredibly hungover and sick at this moment is amazing."

"I called for a blackout, Steve. How the hell do you know?" How many times is Steve going to make him angry like this? He can feel it pulsing just behind his eyes, accompanying the ache brought by the alcohol he consumed last night.

"You called for a blackout from Jarvis. Not me. If you hadn't stopped when you did I was going to break down the door."

"Are you tired, Steve?" That question results in a furrowing of the android's brows, confusion clear.

"Tired? You know I do not require sleep with the-"

"You should call it a night."

"It isn't even close to what you call evening, T-"

"Sleep." Steve goes rigid, something that is surprisingly unnatural and...wrong. The light dims from his eyes, and the arc reactor's light lessens but does not fade completely. Tony hadn't anticipated for Steve to shed the commands, but that doesn't mean he hadn't prepared for it- thoroughly. Hiding programming from an advanced intelligence is tricky, though if it's hidden in the lines, spaced out between codes, there's a chance it will be overlooked, which it seems Steve has done.

"Sir?" It's only when Jarvis speaks that he realizes he's been staring off into space for more than a few minutes.

"Yeah, Jarvis?"

"Perhaps you should follow his advice and call Miss Potts."

Tony sighs. "Yeah."

* * *

 

The call with Pepper doesn't go as bad as he'd anticipated, though it could be a lot better. 

"Tony, are you crazy?"

"Who isn't? Come on, Pep, you act like I've gone and impregnated some poor rich girl from Sweden."

"You built an android. How much did that cost?"

"Uhh. Well-"

"And did I mention that I got a call from Agent Romanov?" Shit.

"No. Why didn't you lead with that?"

"This will be like Afghanistan all over again." Belatedly, Tony realizes that there is a heavy amount of distress in her voice, and a pang of guilt strikes his chest. "Someone is going to want your technology, and this time you won't get lucky."

"Lucky? That was a one time thing and it's not going to happen again. I have plans."

"And how many times have I heard that before?" He winces.

"Point. But-"

"Just tell you'll be careful, and try not to lie."

"Pepper...I'll be careful. Pinky swear." She laughs, and it sounds wet, like she's nearly started crying. "Don't cry, you know how red you get when you do."

"Thanks, Tony." It's in a dry tone but he can hear the smile. "I have some investors to deal with now. I'll talk to you later."

"You too," he answers, but she's already ended the call, and he lets his phone drop to the couch, bottom lip seized between his teeth. He looks to Steve, still standing where Tony let him, and with a bitten off sigh he walks over to the android, staring a moment. Finally, he clears his throat and says,"Rise and shine, Steve."

Light filters through his eyes, turning them their usual blue, and Steve straightens, shoulders squared back. "I- what happened? I cannot account for the last forty five minutes."

"That's because I put you to sleep. You didn't miss anything; all I did was call Pepper."

"Your call required forty five minutes?" Tony notices that his speech has grown more formal, likely because he's unhappy at being shut down the way he was. 

"No, but it's the only thing in those forty five minutes that matters to you." Steve didn't need to know that he spent a majority of the time brooding and rehearsing for the conversation with Pepper- even an android would label that as sad.

"...I didn't like being turned off, Tony." Were the words to come from someone else, his reply would be an innuendo, but he knows that in this instance, it isn't a case of disappointing someone's sex drive. In fact, that part is so obvious it wouldn't need to fall and hit Newton in the head for him to notice it (not that he has anything against him; he's a swell guy for giving them the Universal Law of Gravitation).

"You were getting emotional." The hurt puppy dog expression -which he didn't code into him, no really- shifts to Steve's version of anger, though it's damn close to any person with a blood pressure. He'd applaud himself for his ability to create machines that can feel, except it doesn't sit right in his gut for some odd, unidentified reason.

"Emotional? That's rich." Aren't they supposed to get along? Hell, that's what Tony  _built_ him for. "Is that all, or do you want to defend your alcoholism again?" Even the android knows he's taken the argument too far, if the way he grimaces is any indicator. "Tony-"

"That's all. I have some work to do, anyways," he mutters, exhaling heavily before heading off to his workshop, which will hopefully be blissfully empty of nagging androids with too earnest blue eyes.

* * *

Steve watches him leave with a sense of- is that guilt? It is definitely pronounced, and it has the artificial nerves within his system twinging even though there's no real pain. He just never knows what to do with his insufferable Creator who resists all of his attempts to help and instead turns them into heated disagreements.

His depth perception is flawless, but when it comes to Tony, he is fairly certain it glitches. It's the only explanation he can formulate as to why he doesn't fail to flounder for purpose while in the engineer's presence, and why his version of the human amygdala grows unstable.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?" For some odd reason, the A.I. insists on addressing him as sir, despite the fact that Steve is more or less on the same level as he is, at least when it comes to Tony. Although Tony doesn't argue with Jarvis half as much as he does with Steve.

"Would you mind running a few diagnostics with me?" He's determined to locate where Tony hid the sleeper command. It isn't that he doesn't trust Tony with it, because that is practically blasphemy, but he doesn't like knowing that there is a way ti incapacitate him. He's familiar with the foes Iron Man and Tony Stark have encountered; most of them required brains to go toe to toe against one of the smartest men alive, and if that's the case, hacking him would be a possibility. Learning his weakness and exploiting it...No, he couldn't allow that.

"Of course, sir. I must simply request that you relocate to the second workshop where I am able to access a broader range of equipment."

"I can do that." 


End file.
